“His remarks were always wise, well-expressed and beautiful,” went on Monsieur Bergeret, “and that used to frighten us. Logic is what alarms us most in a madman.”
“On Sunday nights the drawing room was ours,” said Mademoiselle Bergeret.
“Yes,” said Monsieur Bergeret. “It was there we used to play games after dinner. We used to write verses and draw pictures, and mother would play forfeits with us. Oh, the candour and simplicity of those bygone days! The simple pleasures, the charm of the old-world manners! We used to play charades; we ransacked your wardrobes, Zoe, in search of things to dress up in.”
“One day you pulled the white curtains off my bed.”
“That was to make robes for the Druids in the mistletoe scene, Zoe. The word we chose was guimauve. We were very good at charades, and Father was such a splendid audience. He did not listen to a word, but he smiled at us. I think I should have been quite a good actor, but the grown-ups never gave me a chance; they always wanted to do all the talking.”
“Don’t labour under any delusions, Lucien; you were incapable of playing your part in a charade. You are too absent-minded. I am the first to recognize your intellect and your talents, but you never had the gift of improvisation. You must not try to go outside your books and manuscripts.”
“I am just to myself, Zoe, and I know I am not eloquent; but when Jules Guinaut and Uncle Maurice played with us one could not get a word in.”
“Jules Guinaut had a real talent for comedy,” said Mademoiselle Bergeret, “and an unquenchable spirit.”
“He was studying medicine,” said Monsieur Bergeret. “A good-looking fellow!”
“So people used to say.”